


Lost and Found

by lyall



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Drabble, F/M, Post 2x08, The 100 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyall/pseuds/lyall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post finale. Bellarke.</p><p>Her hands are red, and it will never wash off. How do you fix a wound that you cannot see? Clarke is reeling from her actions and Bellamy is there to help, but sometimes you have to do these things on your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

The world was muted and seemed to speed on around her, as she froze in timeless agony. The faces and noises surrounding her. Overwhelming her. A pressure on her back guided her though the mass of people, whispering words in her ear that she could not hear. 

She let herself be moved without resistance. Her thoughts were chaotic, refusing to make sense of the scenes before her. Raven screaming out and reaching for her, to hurt or to hug? Clarke wasn’t sure. Arms restrained Raven, pulling her away until she was gone from Clarke’s sight and out of her mind.

Her mothers tear stained face made an appearance, but it soon melted from view as the hand steering her back placed more pressure and made her move faster. Her eyes and mind searched and searched for more familiar faces of comfort.

Monty. Jasper. Miller. Finn.

Her breath hitched at the last name, and she stumbled. A pair of hands reached out and caught her, holding a guiding hand round her waist and another on her arm.

Her mind was catching up with her now that she recalled that name, the memories from seconds ago were rushing up to greet her. The pain in her right hand started to burn as she remembered the dagger that was held within it. Her vision tinted red and she remembered what it was that covered her hands and shirt.

A tent flap opened in front of her and it all came crashing down. The noise and faces were gone, leaving Clarke with just her thoughts, and her thoughts were of red. 

She let out a strangled cried as she dropped to her knees, dropping the knife and putting her face into her hands, rocking back and forth. The sobs racked her body as arms curled around her attempting to hold together the broken fragments of her soul. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” A voice Clarke recognised as Bellemy’s murmured. But Clarke knew that nothing would be okay again.

“I-I killed him Bellamy. I put the knife into him and killed him.” Clarke choked out between her tears, unable to quell them. She turned her face to Bellamy’s, “How could I have done that? He was one of us, and I killed him.” 

Bellamy released her and moved to be in front of Clarke, knelling on the floor in front of her. His eyes were serious.

“Listen to me Clarke. You had no choice. The Grounders were going to torture him, you saved Finn.” Bellamy spoke with such strength that a small part of Clarke wanted to believe him. But believing that what she did was necessary did nothing to mend the burning hole in her heart. Her body ached for Finn. She _missed_ him. How was it possible that he wasn't about to walk into her tent at any moment?

It felt like an eternity of pain upon her, the type where there was no possible end to it. How does one ever get over the feeling of loss and guilt? How do you mend a wound you cannot see?

The tears began to slow, as tiredness hit Clarke. Unable to look at Bellamy, Clarke focussed on her red hands. The damning evidence was there for everyone to see. Bellamy noticed her gaze and immediately got up, and brought over a basin of water. Without asking permission he took both of Clark’s hands in his and lowered them into the water, slowly rubbing off the blood. Clarke could never have imagined that hands that were so swift to fight could be so gentle.

The water swirled a pink, then red as the fresh blood came away.

“He did it for me Bellamy. If I hadn’t shut those drop ship doors on both of you, Finn wouldn’t have been out there looking for me, and none of this would have happened.” She had turned him into the unrecognisable person who had shot those villagers. 

That wasn’t the Finn would had risked his life to make peace with the Grounders. It wasn’t the Finn that had told them that guns were a bad idea. And it certainly wasn’t the Finn she had spent that night in the bunker with. War had changed them all.

Bellamy stopped washing Clarkes hands for a moment, holding them both in his, under the water.

“We have all done things Clarke, but we can’t lose you now.” He studied her face, searching every inch of it as if memorising it. “We need you. I need you.” He echoed her words from a lifetime ago when the situation was very much reversed. 

*

The atmosphere around Camp Jaha was different after that night. There was a new distance between Clarke and the former Ark inhibitors. Not that she had noticed much. She walked through her life in a daze, not really seeing. She barely participated, refusing to leave the Camp grounds for fear of resurfacing memories.

It made her bitter to see life go on around her when Finn was no longer around to witness it. What right did these people have to life when his was gone? At her own hand, she reminded herself routinely. Clarke stopped leaving her tent eventually when she found herself unable to concentrate in anything, and too afraid of the hatred she felt towards herself and the world outside. It felt easier to live with herself in the confines of her tent, away from the curious eyes of others.

Bellamy had tried to talk to her, but words were useless against the heavy weight that now sat on her chest. It tightened and hitched every time her eyes spotted the tall wooden tree just pass the camps barriers where Finn had been tied. 

Others had tried to talk to her too. Her mother. Wick. Even Kane. But not Raven. Never Raven. 

Gradually people had stopped trying to talk to Clarke, except Bellamy who would routinely try and coax a few words out of Clarke, despite the impossibility. She had nothing to say to her friends. Every word that came out of her mouth seemed laced with guilt, as if it were going to give her away and her friends would suddenly turn and realised her for the murderer she was. 

Instead Bellamy would sit with her in silence, just watching. He would sit by her bed until she fell asleep and would be there when she woke in the night screaming. He would stroke her hair and whispered to her until she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He did that everyday for weeks, until one day he didn’t. 

Clarke watched the entrance to her tent almost nervously, waiting for him to enter, but he never did. And when she woke up screaming that night, there was no one to whisper to her, or guide her back into her sleep. So instead she stayed up, hugging her knees, whispering to herself, willing to dreams to go away. Wishing that Finn’s face would stop appearing behind her closed lids. 

The next day was the same, and the one after. Still Bellamy did not appear. Clarke wondered if he had grown bored of her, or perhaps realised his resentment for her actions.

And to her own surprise, she found herself rising from her bed 3 days after Bellamy had stopped turning up, and leaving her tent. The sun seemed blindingly bright outside, and the air too fresh. 

Clarke walked towards the Ark, ignoring the looks and whispers directed at her. It didn’t take long to reach the medical bay. Seeing the medical supplies arranged on the shelves made Clarkes heart a little lighter as she remembered the days when she had been able to save people.

Her eyes roamed across the various herbs, saying out loud the various ailments they would cure. There were several on the end she didn’t know. Perhaps new ones they had discovered. 

“Clarke!” Her mothers voice broke her from her trance. Clarke turned to face her mother, mustering a weak smile. She noticed Abby’s hair was messy and there was blood on her shirt. Fresh blood.

“Wha-“ Clarke began.

“A hunting party got split up, and were attacked. We don’t know by what yet, but they have bite marks on their bodies. I’ve managed to stitch up most of them, but…” Abby seemed to hesitate for a moment before pressing on. “Why don’t you come and check some of the wounds for me? I could use the extra hand.”

Clarke, surprising herself again, gave a small nod, following her mother to the medical bay beds. Laid out on the beds were 3 of the Arks guards. There were cuts along their faces and arms and bandages around their legs and ribs. It was more than a few bites. 

Without instruction, Clarke sat down next to the closest patient and began to work, cleaning up the wounds, redressing and assessing if there was infection. She was so absorbed, Clarke didn’t notice her mother stopping and watching her for a few moments, a faint smile on her face. 

The familiar motions and movements soon had Clarke working tirelessly, her previous mission to find Bellamy placed to the side for the moment. Her mind for the first time in weeks, thought of something other than Finn.

It was the rush of feet and yells that brought Clarke back to her senses. She looked up from her stitches to see several soldiers carrying two bodies into the bay. Taking one to the far end and placing him on a bed, the man carrying the body said something to Abby, and looked at the body with concern. Abby nodded and began to push to bed towards the surgery. She stopped and turned back to Clarke.

“I need to go and perform surgery. Clarke, I need you to stay here and take care of the other for me?” Being left with no choice, Clarke nodded and turned her attention to where the other bloodied body had been placed. As she saw the masses of red, Clarke’s vision blurred slightly, and she looked down at her hands, only now noticing the blood on them. A groan from the new patient brought her back to the room again, tearing her thoughts away from her guilt.

She felt the wind get knocked out of her as familiar unfocussed eyes met her own. Beneath the blood and mud was Bellamy. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach as another of her friends laid close to death, Clarke looked up at the men who had brought Bellamy in.

“What’s the problem?” She asked.

“Arrow through the side, and various wounds to the face and legs. He’s lost a lot of blood.” Clarke nodded, prioritising the problems in her head, working out where to start. The arrow wound seemed a good bet. She needed to stem the blood flow there before cleaning up the rest of the wounds. 

“Bellamy, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Clarke said, lifting his blood soaked shirt to reveal the snapped shaft of an arrow sticking out. “You’ve got to stay awake for me, you got that? Bellamy?”

Mud stained fingers came up and brushed her wrist as she examined the arrow, confirming her request.

“Sure thing, Princess.” Came the shallow response. Clarkes hand’s froze, as she felt the pressure in her chest return, getting heavier and heavier, the tears behind her eyes, threatening to spill over. She couldn’t fight it. 

“Clarke? What do you need us to do?” One of the guards said, making her snap her head up, “Clarke?” Looking back down at Bellamy, whose eyes were now half closed, Clarke shook her head. She needed to hold it together, just for a little while longer. She couldn’t let another one die by her hand.

“I need some hot water and fresh rags for cleaning the wound. I need some of those moonshine they have been brewing outside for sterilising the wound.” The guards nodded and rushed off in different directions to fetch her requests. Clarke looked back at Bellamy, placing a soft hand on his dirty cheek.

“Bellamy, come on now. Stay with me. Stay with me.” She said fiercely. His eyes widened, focussing on her for a moment. The guards rushed back with her demands, placing a warm bowl of water, rags and moonshine next to her.

“First, I need you to hold him down. Can you do that?” The guards nodded.

*

Her mother was still in surgery, and she was exhausted. Having pulled a chair up to Bellamy’s bedside, she watched his chest rise and fall in heavy motions. Every breath he took was a relief to her. 

The wound was infected, and Clarke had done her best to cut away the infection, but it was down to the fates now. There was only so much natural herbs and plants from the forest could do. She lifted a hand to Bellamy’s sleeping forehead, and felt the head radiating off him. The fever needed to break, and soon. 

She moved her hand down to cradle Bellamy’s face, now clean and fresh after the mud and blood had been removed. Whose ever the blood on Bellamy’s face had belonged to, it wasn’t his own. His face was unscathed, and if it weren’t for the burning fever, Clarke would have thought he was just sleeping.

He looked so peaceful. There was no crease in his brow from the strain of leading their people. He troubled eyes were closed and resting.

“Bellamy, you have to get through this.” Clarke whispered, leaning her head down on his shoulder. “I don’t want to do this without you.” She couldn’t do this without him. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bellamy’s voice, though cracked and weak, was the sunshine to her darkness. Clarke lifted her head to look at him, a half smile on her face at hearing the sound of his voice. Her eyes met his fever stricken ones, but there were awake and strong.

“Bellamy…” She breathed, brushing back his damp hair from out of his face where sweat had now started to form. His fever was breaking. She reached to the table beside her grasping a cup of water and bringing it to Bellamy’s lips. As the water touched his lips, his eyes closed no doubt enjoying the blissful freshness of the water. He brought a hand up to cover Clarkes as she held the cup to his lips. The skin on her hand danced with the contact in a way she had thought she would never feel again. It was as she was cold, and hadn’t realised until the warmth of Bellamy begun to thaw her.

Bringing the cup down again, Clarke reached beneath his chin, feeling his pulse. It was steady and much stronger than it had been. Unable to stop it, she felt a smile break out on her face as the realisation that Bellamy would live washed over her. The breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding released, and the weight on her chest lifted. She had saved him. Light tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

Bellamy’s face immediately crumpled into one of confusion, “Clarke, please don’t… don’t cry.” He said, manoeuvring himself to try and sit up, winching at the pain in his side and the weakness in his muscles.

Clarke sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeved, letting out the tiniest of laughs at Bellamy’s misunderstanding. At that sound Bellamy stopped trying to move and just stared at Clarke, like she was oxygen and he had been suffocating for all of his life. Every second he looked at her, he seemed to grow brighter and better.

“I thought you were going to die Bellamy. But you aren’t. You’re going to be okay.” Clarke said, not breaking his stare, “I don’t know what I would have done if you had died. Don’t do that to me again Bell.” He was smiling at her in the way he always did now, with a sense of pride and mischief.

“I’m not going anywhere Princess. I promise. Who would hold down the fort without me?” He said. “Its good to have you back, Clarke.”

Without saying a word, Clarke leant forward, closing the space between them and pressed her lips to Bellamy’s, just for a few fleeting movements. When she pulled away, the world seemed clearer and brighter than it had before, and Bellamy was the sun.

“Its good to be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble based on my feelings for Bellarke. I imagine that Clarke would really wallow in the consequences of what she did. She loved Finn once, even if it wasnt the Finn that died.


End file.
